Raven Calling
by WhamBamWrites
Summary: The sun hides from him when he shows his face. Those who surround him are gifted with power. Filled with a promise, for good or evil, he is of the infamous Dark Lord, and the ravens will call to him.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, though you probably guessed that.**

 **. . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

 _Prologue_

Lily threaded her hands in through her crackling red hair and out of hit, feeling a slight sense of pain when she ripped a knotted piece of hair from her skull by force. _I deserve this pain_ , she continued, unable to think clearly of the child being cared for by close friends. Her child of which she was in her school Professor's office, daring to speak of handing him over to his death by the Dark Lord Voldemort.

For a year and more, friends had died and families had been torn apart. The Longbottom family, for instance. Oh, Alice and Frank. The dorky, brave, and courageous pair. They had a _son._ He was destined to grow up and experience the wizarding world as a young man. To go to Ollivander's and experience that rushing, glowing sensation at the pits of your stomach when you get the wand that is matched for you. To go to Hogwarts and be cheered on by the house you get picked into. On that first trip to Hogsmeade. He was going to experience it with his parents to write him letters while he was away and to encourage him while they were together.

But now, the closest contact would be annual visits to St. Mungo's, holding back tears as he witnesses his mother and father, mumbling under their breaths bits and pieces of words and nothings. He would lose all that he deserved rightfully.

Same could be said for their own son, though. He was the son of _James and Lily Potter_ , they would all shout! He was to have the sharpest brain and be the star on the quidditch field. But he wasn't going to get special treatment or even treatment at all.

Because he was going to die.

Tonight.

Lily had begged, pleaded, and wept for a better solution for her family, but Dumbledore had insisted in his calm, clever, and almost cunning tone.

"The sacrifice you will make will be great. . . much greater than you deserve. But it will save your lives and the lives of others if Voldemort gets the boy." His crooked nose was red from ill health. "If he does not have him, he will take many others. And as he kills," Lily released a sob, "Harry, he will be weakened beyond repair. The killing of the innocent is of the cruelest thing, and he will be defeated at last."

James tried to console Lily, attempting to tell her that their son would be hero never forgotten, and how many lives it would save and the vengeance of the lives he took everyone so deserved.

"No!" She shouted, standing. "He is my _son!_ To me, his life matters more than _anyone's_ and I don't care! I don't care if they all live or die, Albus! _Harry_ will live, and by God I will _not_ be the one to throw him into the graves!" Lily screamed to the old man, gathering with fury her things and her husband.

Albus looked back, a cunning glint in his eye. "Tonight, the world will either be raised or razed. We all lie in your palm, Potters. Go to Malfoy Manor to lay down the boy's life in order to save us all, or be selfish. Goodbye." With a whisk of his great blue cloak, he stood and bounded away.

 _Selfish?_

Saving her son was _selfish?_

"James, I want to leave," Lily demanded, tears almost immediately coming to her eyes at the decision she was faced with. And no, it was not a tough decision. It was a simple decision. It was terribly tough to get Albus, the crooked minded, manipulating, odious piece of lying filth. Her son was being looked after by Remus and Sirius, the young babe's two godfathers.

Her husband was hesitant. "Lily," he began, pulling her down by her sleeve to meet his chestnut brown eyes on the chaise lounge.

Lily was in absolutely no mood for this. Her husband trying to make reason of Albus's ludicrous statements, only because of all the detention he was saved as a young and troubled boy because of Albus. This infuriated her even more.

"No one loves Harry more than I—"

Lily snorted.

She wiped a tear from her face. "Except for me if you plan on justifying his death, you cowardly fool!" Lily would hold nothing back from her husband if he was to defend Dumbledore. He was a lying cow for all she knew at the moment.

James tried to remain calm, but was beginning to get antsy. "Listen," he began. "You and I have to decide if we are going to place one life over perhaps thousands. Millions. Billions, Lily! Once _he_ has the Wizarding World, what will stop him from enslaving the muggles? This is too big to let attachments get in the way."

"Shut up!" She screamed, her cheeks blazing hotter than her hair. "You waste! The life of your son is less important to you than people you never even met! You should be ashamed!"

"Well, Lily, life is isn't fair!"

"What makes you think _death_ will be any better!" Their screaming match had risen so loudly, that Fawkes the phoenix looked weakly at them with fright for the wands clutched in their fists. The enchanted cloak Dumbledore had on his coat rack waved itself back and forth, silently beckoning for his master to send him out of the place.

As exhausted and sleepy and oveall worn out at they both were, they were unwielding for their son. But one was for his protection, well-being, and life. The boy's mother would keep him, and ignore everyone until it was just the two of them on an isolated piece of rock and stone keeping them afloat in a sea of lava.

And yet one cared more, for reasons selfish, but in the eyes of a young man, noble reasons, to have the life snuffed out of the babe.

The wise man had his words of manipulation and malice, the glint of self-induced nobleness and bravery shining behind those aged eyes. A chance to prove to everyone he was better than most. Better than all. The death of the boy would bring the family fame, pity, and the wealth of those who wish to tell a tale.

Safety to all when Voldemort's soul is weakened and vanquished.

Safety to all but a young boy. . .

.. . . . .

Night had fallen and Harry Potter was dozing to his favorite classical tunes. Lily had put together a mixtape for him. Her young son loved _Swan Lake: No. 29 Scene Finale_ and _Requiem: Dies Irae_. He would give this adorable, small little smirk, and then close his eyes with his hand clamped around Ronny the Monkey.

Why her son loved such strangely epic, loud, and chaotic music, Lily couldn't understand. Of course, there was a beauty to it. The same melodic beauty in all music, but it had lost the peaceful element and the joyful lull it should bring.

Especially on that particular night, the bangs and drums and pauses of suspense from the tunes on the mixtape kept Lily's hand sweaty as she stared deeply at the golden door knob of the nursery. Which, she had locked.

For the assured safety of her son, she had whisked James to sleep with a sneaky little potion and locked the door, for when he woke any minute now. . .

"LILY! GIVE ME THAT BOY!" There is was. The furious, thick, and enraged voice James, her husband. It was beginning to wear off the sleep as he pounded on the door. "I WILL GET IN WITH MAGIC! DON'T PRETEND YOU CAN HIDE! VOLDEMORT MUST BE STOPPED, LILY," He screamed, his footsteps a march in an off direction for a moment, but then returning.

"I'm sorry." His voice softened for a moment before the door blasted open, and awoke Harry from his sleep.

Looking around the room at the door, hanging on its weak hinges, James slowly began speaking to Lily, trying to become just as calm as Harry, who sat on his knees and goggled at his parents in eerie wonder. "Lily," he began, but Lily backed toward Harry. To shield him from his own father. "Don't make us fight. I don't want to fight you. . . Just think of all the people that Snivellus and Malfoy are killing without a second thought."

Lily snorted. "Of course, James. And I'll make sure to add Harry to that list as well." Her wand was out, hidden behind her back to strike at any given moment.

And when Lily saw the words _Accio Crib_ forming quickly on James's soft lips, she wasted no time and pointed the wand squarely at his chest, wincing with a touch of regret as she cast the spell.

" _Flipendo_!" With a third-year level jinx, Lily cast on James to fly backward with a pulsing wave of energy, him lying on the floor, groaning and moaning in aches as Lily quickly wrapped Harry up in a baby blue blanket and magically attached him to a broom oversized for the small little boy. Edging fast towards the open and windy window, Lily held Harry in the air as James got on his feet.

He shot multiple blasts at Lily, bright, offensive, desperate glowing orbs of brown and deep orange. She felt the heat of them pass by her as she dodged and twisted to get out of their harmful way. And alas, she was not harmed in any terrible way or simple one. She let out a yelp though, with one hollow, somber scream, as her balance vanished, and she tumbled down.

Down.

Down.

. . . . . .

By far, the most frightening and horrifying and miserable thing to happen to happen to Lily in a while was that. Partially because she was falling from a two story building to the rocks and gravel path beneath her, and also partially because she was just an inch from Harry and the broom that floated down with her, offering assistance, but too careful moving to handle the violent tilt without breaking little Harry's bones.

The ground was coming closer and time was gracefully sparing her, slowing itself. Either to make the pain drawn out or to give her more time to figure out a solution.

" _Levicorpius_!" Spurring quickly, she reenacted a spell her once-close friend had shown her. She stopped falling and summoned enough energy from her breathless body to grasp the broom with her rough hands and reverse the spell, falling gently onto the wooden stick, gasping for air and circling her surroundings.

She was. . . in the air. . . with Harry. . .

James wouldn't be able to get her because they only had enough money for one broom. With a cheerful giggle, she kissed Harry's forehead as the baby began to close his eyes, he feel asleep on her stomach as they floated away from that nightmare household.

"We'll be OK. . ." She whispered and glided farther and farther towards a place where her own husband and the rest of the insensible people that plagued her life couldn't find her and her son.

. . . . . .

The sounds of leaves bristling and twigs snapping played on repeat to Lily. She didn't know if it was real or if it was something in her own mind, but with her back to the deepest end of the forest, she couldn't even get a wink of sleep.

Harry was sleeping soundly on top of her, his perfect small body's chest rising and falling as his breaths left his body and sailed back in.

As she was beginning to try and convince herself that the twig-snapping and leave-brushing sounds were just paranoia. But then, she heard her name come from a weak and exhausted man.

"Lily. . . _Lily. . ._ " James called after her, stumbling forward to face Lily. Oh, and the sight that greeted her was nothing short of horrifying.

His nose was swollen and purplish red, crooked and broken by force. His cheeks were scraped and charcoal red, as if he had been dragged through the very own gravel of their home. . . and his hands. . . covered in welts and bruises and long, deep, red cuts that bleed profusely as he wept in front of her, rushing forward to kiss her just once more before being pulled harshly back by a cruel Bellatrix LeStrange and snarled at by Antonin Dolohov.

Immediately, the tears came to Lily.

All of her plotting and deep planning and running to escape this and more; the imprisonment and torture of her husband, no doubt leading to not only his death but hers. And. . . the death of Harry.

She was too tired to fight back.

Too surrounded.

With dignity, she planned to die, and without handing her son to the Dark Lord.

"The mudblood is alive, well, well," Voldemort swirled, almost towards her, his beading red eyes and swirling towards her. "And with the filthy, half-breed baby. Ugh, it's almost too much." In his dark cloak, he reached down and snatched Harry from Lily, drawing a wail from the young woman.

He cackled. "Should I kill you husband or your child first? Asist me, my followers. . ." Some howled for James Potter, already too weak to defend himself, and some asked for the child, a small, pitiful creature. It was a jumble of hate and unwanted taunts that burned and seethed loudly in Lily and James's ears.

"Not. . ." She whispered. "Not Harry. . ." Try as she might, Voldemort looked at her hatefully and, " _crucio."_

Pain like hellfire, seething, twisting, boiling inside of her, making the young woman writhe and scream in absolute anguish. This total terror of her mind and body continued for a solid nine seconds, and all the while, Harry and James weakly tried to escape their bond to find a way to help her. His wife, and his mother.

Again, the Dark Lord cackled, his laughs a deep whip against her spine. "James Potter here was just telling me how he would exchange little Harry's life for your and his safety. . . how predictable. . . the little boy influenced so much by Dumbledore, that crooked little man, into giving up his own son!" He clipped his tongue. "I don't agree with your policy, James Potter. . . _Avada Kedrava!_ " A blazing strike of cackling green light hit James blindingly sudden, knocking him to the edge of the stream, his eyes open and dead.

"J-James. . . _James!"_ Lily ran to him faster than she knew her weak body could carry her. Over his still body she wept and sobbed and spilled her tears, unknowing of the almost pitiful look he shot her way for a simple moment.

At this very moment, the killing curse formed on his lips. His followers might've thought this was another act of cold blood. Another killing of those beneath him. But what only Voldemort dared to know was that this was pity. A pity that moved him to end the woman's life before she suffered more.

The last thing she looked at before the curse hit her chest was her baby Harry. The eerie sadness in his bottle green was all too familiar of his wife.

Someone collapsed behind all the rows of black robes.

Voldemort held Harry who did not cry. Did not jiggle to get out of the arms of this dark creature. Who looked at Voldemort instead with a calm and amused look, his bottle green eyes illuminating the sky. The warlock knew there was great power behind those eyes. A great promise. A great future. This boy was too be powerful.

The pity Voldemort once held for Lily Potter evaporated as he remembered her husband's cowardice. His absolute willingness to give this boy's life.

"Do not worry, Harry Potter," he brought the babe up to the light. "You will not be weak." The howls of the night engulfed them as they vanished away.

. . . . . . .

 **Thank you for reading! I hope to have the first actual "chapter" up in a week or two. Review, Favorite, and Follow! Thanks!**


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two: Ten Years Later_

 _. . . . . . ._

The Boy Who Lived was just a small little one-year-old baby when he was forced to witness the murder of his parents at the hands of Voldemort. And only four months later, he was found unconscious beside an abandoned train station by Gunther Peil, who was looking for photography.

It was then, he was known as the Boy Who Lived. Because before, he was the Potter That Was Lost to All, since they didn't know where he was. He was a common myth and tale that had been told around pubs and motels. All assumed that Voldemort had killed the babe, and that had seeped all of his strength, since Voldemort had suddenly stopped terrorizing humanity ever since the death of the Potter Family. Everyone was startled and puzzled at how _Harry_ , a small tiny boy, could have survived such an attack. Could have _vanquished_ Voldemort!?

No one guessed though, and no one knew, except for Dumbledore. Upon the Dark Lord's vanishing and the Potter's end of life, he immediately knew from Severus Snape, the man who was there to watch it all happen. Did nothing.

He knew that when Lily was grieving and fighting to protect her son, that innocence and purity of heart greatly weakened Voldemort by the hour, causing him to die at an unknown exact time, but one can guess it was quite soon after the travesty.

"You cannot raise Harry Potter!" Dumbledore shrieked with amusement when Severus made this suggestion. "You were a witness to her death and I very much think it inappropriate to have him living under the wing of a past Death Eater." Severus winced, wiping a tear from his bony face. "I will have Minerva send him to live with Sirius Black. Fetch her!"

Severus gave a hollow nod, trying to recover from the news that Lily was. . . gone. And a bit of a while later, Minerva came to his office, also quite shaken from the recent news, and bearing her own. "Harry Potter will now be in the care of Sirius Black. I sent him to Grimmauld Place."

"Very well," with a smirk that he was safe, Dumbledore issued her away and laid back in his chair, thinking of when Harry would be grown enough to understand. . .

. . . . . .

Sirius and Remus were again laughing to themselves heartfully, making lewd jokes to themselves. Tonight was a very joyous night for them. Tonight was the night that Harry had received his letter to Hogwarts!

They reminisced in bittersweet memory of the Golden Era of the Marauders. When Sirius turned into a dog and howled all night, sending shivers down Remus's spine and mad laughter to James. When they bought all the candy in all the carts and showered it to the students they liked. When they _almost_ threw Snivellus off the train.

It was their longing that drove them to their inattentive drinking state. Complete longing to have James and Lily and even Peter, before he was a lying rat and just their Wormtail. Now it was gone and it was just Moony and Padfoot.

While they sustained themselves with laughter on Harry's birthday, the young boy, now eleven and not too young, snuck away to the attic of Grimmauld Place. The portraits here straightened their backs and greeted him with, "Good Evening, Master Harry Potter." Just as he liked it.

Ever since he was brought here, they understood he was much more powerful, destined for much greater than Sirius Black had ever been.

"Stop talking, Walburga. I swear, every time you speak I hear a thousand demons screeching. Shut. _Up._ " And like that, she silenced herself. Quieted. Her tongue froze but warmed only enough to say:

"Forgive me, Master Harry Potter." Harry gave a small smirk. He loved it when people said his full name. Well, his full name without the _James_ part of it. As Voldemort had told him before, his own father had begged for Harry's death in exchange for the death of his parents. That was why instead, he took the name Harry Altair Potter. It emitted more power than the name of that hideous coward James.

And speaking of Voldemort. . . Harry had another lesson to get to.

. . . . .

"Feel it, Harry! _Feel it!_ The dark green cloud erupting from the fireplace called to him to finish his training for the day and conduct the Imperius Curse on Iona Lucretia Humpkin, the elderly woman who was a small part of the cleaning staff at the grand home.

He curled his fist again and raised his wand, (nine inches exactly, black walnut wood, fox spine core, stiff flexibility. Sirius had gotten this wand under influence of Voldemort, because Voldemort needed to train Harry from an early age) summoning a pale yellow strike that hit Iona Humpkin in her leg, and no less knocked her to the floor with force. Her eyes turned all white like snow and she stood, a brainless zombie in between Harry, smirking slightly, and Voldemort with his sinister deep cackle. Not yet, would Harry give her his instructions.

"I am so very proud of you, Harry." Voldemort spoke as well as he could from the billowing smoke cloud that was now his incorporeal form. Ever since his humiliating defeat, Voldemort only had one chance of coming back: Harry.

Harry was going to go to Wizarding School. Hogwarts, as the letter arrived. If it was up to Harry, he would've chosen Durmstrang. It was a school much better suited for the magical talents he needed to learn to complete his only goal of bring the Dark Lord back to life. But Durmstrang would get people on edge. It would make people less warm towards Harry, you may say. They could begin to figure out what Harry and Voldemort had been doing all along. But if they went to Hogwarts. . . Harry could be sorted into Slytherin. No big deal, right? All of the Black family was placed in Slytherin and Sirius was a good Gryffindor. Why can't it be reverse for the fantastic Potter boy? Of course that's what they'll say.

Oh, and Voldemort had a special surprise waiting for Harry. Durmstrang would be a preferred method, but he was able to convince one of his former followers to give over a teacher. . .

"When you go to Hogwarts, do not disappoint me. I kept you breathing because I saw the promise in you. I saw the magical talents that you will one day possess, with the help of Hestina Goranov, who will be your Dark Arts tutor. . ." The smoke was becoming whiter as the Dark Lord faded.

"I will not disappoint you, Master. _Sleep._ " He told the maid, a still statue in the room, who then collapsed in a heap beside the window.

The smoke twirled like a dying twister. "Until Hogwarts, Harry Altair Potter." And the room was darker than night. More silent than the stars.

. . . . . . .

"Uncle Sirius," Harry called when he made it downstairs. Remus was napping on a bench in the foyer and Sirius was trying hopelessly to make water shoot from his wand into a silver goblet. Sick of watching the man fail with intermediate magic, Harry shot water from his wand from behind the man, and Sirius was convinced, like a small child, that it was his own accomplishment. "What do you think about me going to Hogwarts?"

Sirius looked him straight in the eyes. "I think darn straight amazfantasawezomazing! Goodie goop job, boy. _Goodie goop job_." Harry could feel the firewhiskey and mead on his breath.

The opinion of his Godfather did matter though. Harry cared, somewhat. "I'm going into Slytherin. It's the best house for me. Frankly I don't care if you want to disown me because that's that, you blubbering drunk."

Harry was not very good with feelings, obviously. Being raised partially by the distracted Sirius, the depressed Remus, and the dark Voldemort had made him maybe a bit hollow in the heart, but never in the brain.

Sirius stared at his godson for a long moment. "My brother was a Slytherin. . . he was a good man. . . he told no one but me and Kreacher what he did but he. . . he died anyway." The man with ragged, jaw-length hair looked sadly at Harry. "Don't die, Harry. You can't die, Harry," he kept mumbling until he threw a blanket over himself with magic and dozed to sleep.

Harry was unsure of what to make with his strange suggestion, but he was tired from practicing his magic and he wanted to sleep. Taking a slice of the pumpkin cheesecake Remus had made, he sat on the tile floor of his room, extracting billywig stings, cat hair, dragon claws and essence of ginger root to make one of his own designed potions. He liked doing that; creating potions. Creating spells too.

More than anything, Harry wanted to be powerful. To be loved by all. This had fueled him to keep with Voldemort's grueling lessons.

So far, Harry had created a spell to eliminate all sound from a room, and one to turn the spot where one stood to quicksand that would immobilize from the neck down. Of his potions, he could re create various muggle diseases. He could also gain weight from the Loioo Potion, and take weight from the Laiaa potion. With Uncle Sirius and Uncle Remus, he had a lot of fun.

Especially for the Dark Lord's apprentice.


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter Three_

This was the day that all students either returned or journeyed for the first time, to Hogwarts. Harry had calculated everything, from where he would sit on the Hogwarts Express, to his house, and the classes he would take. Hestina Goranov, a former Durmstrang student and a powerful former death eater who escaped the clutches of Azkaban, using her legilimens magic to infect the minds of Wizengamot. . . she was admiral at the least.

Sirius and Remus beamed proudly at him, waving together as he itched to free himself and join his destiny.

Alas, his Godfathers had grown attached to him. Sirius and Remus pulled him close. "Well, Potter, it's been a lot of years." _And one year without being constantly interrupted by you checking in on me practicing magic will probably do a lot better than these ten years ever have for me._ "There's too much to say right now, so I'll leave you with this little fella." Out of his coat he pulled out a. . . newt.

The creature wasn't any small newt, actually it fit into Sirius's palm exactly. It's back was covered in what looked like dangerous and sharp coals and lava rocks. Harry Potter knew not to touch that part of the creature without protection. Sirius lifted the creature to show its bright orange underside, indicating its dangers.

"Harry, these little creatures are Argentinian Fire Spouting Newts, known to be small but monstrous when attacked. Like you a little bit, aye?" Sirius chuckled as the last warning for the Hogwarts Express rang out. "It's a _she_ by the way, so keep that mind. Here. I'll be seeing you, Harry!" He shouted as Harry pocketed the precious creature and moved toward the train, setting his eyes on a cabin that had only one sharp-gazed platinum blonde boy in it. Voldemort showed him this boy in Harry's night visions. This was Draco Malfoy. Harry was instructed to be close with that family. The Malfoy Family.

"Goodbye, Sirius." Calmly, Harry waved one last time before sitting in the cabin with the Malfoy boy, who placed his harsh stare from the window to Harry, considering if the boy was trash or a useful acquaintance.

Harry had worn a dark green plaid shirt under a long sleeve, brown moto jacket. His pants were crisp black jeans and his shoes were Scott Box calf leather sneakers that he had gotten for his recent birthday. The total outfit was over three thousand pounds, but it didn't matter unless Draco had seen his watch.

The watch had calfskin leather and stainless steel, a honeycomb textured dial and fire resistant plus water resistant clockwork. What really mattered, though, was the engraving on the steel.

 _Quibuscumque vires suppetebant ad reliquos qui mundus est in derisum tota die._ The world is for those who are strong enough to survive its worst. This was the slogan amongst Death Eaters, and though both of the boys were too young to ever had heard it even muttered on the streets, they knew better than anyone what this meant. No one anymore really knew the saying; they had forgotten, it seemed, a now crucial detail was coming back for their consequence.

"So it's true." If silver had a sound it would be this boy's voice; cold and focused and filled with wit. "Father told me, but I guess secretly I didn't think it was possible. You've been. . . trained by Voldemort?" Harry was impressed by how the boy's voice had not shaken, but remained a tone of dignified awe.

"Yes. Since I was nine-years-old." They both smirked.

Draco nodded in admiration and extended his hand. "Well, I suppose you already know, but I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Call me Draco. . . if you please." Good. He could still recognized his higher even though they were becoming friends. This gesture made Harry grin a little. He reached for the platinum blonde boy's hand.

"Harry Altair Potter. Call me Harry." They gave a firm shake of hands. "So, have you ever seen a Mendoza Fire Spouting Newt? One of the most dangerous creatures in the magical kingdom." Harry asked. Draco shook his head no.

"Father says that the Ministry is trying to ban them. Those fools don't know that they'll probably just end up at Borgin and Burkes anyway if they become banned," he argued. "But no, I've only read about those fascinating creatures." Draco's eyes widened. "Would you have one?"

Once again, Harry smirked. Slowly, he grabbed the safe tail end of his somewhat smallish pet and showed it to Draco. The blonde boy in front of him raised his eyebrows and gawked for a moment before retaining his composure. "Wow. . ." Gathering the lime green and off white tie he had on his chest—as though he already knew he would be a Slytherin— he pressed it to the rough stones of the newt's upperside. The tie was instantly singed by a purple fire, and Draco removed his finger quickly.

Harry sat the Newt back on his lap. "I wasn't sure what to name her before, but now I'm thinking Esmeree. I like that, yes."

"I see. . . my bat's name is Ianthe. Right now she's sleeping, but you can have a peek if you like?" He offered. Harry had never seen a bat up close before. He gestured for his new friend to reveal the creature in the obsidian cage that Harry had previously ignored. Draco, showed him the sleeping animal, but the happiness was cut short as Draco's face began to sour.

"That filthy blood traitor. I hate that the _Weasels_ still go to Hogwarts. _Chanson Triste!_ " Draco brought out his wand and flicked it as the Weasel boy let out a loud shriek before falling on his face. Draco laughed sinisterly, but Harry looked at him, for once, impressed.

"You know those difficult hexes? How?"

Draco smirked. "Father and Mother brought in frequent _friends_ so I could be top of my class once I got to Hogwarts. I always knew that I was only supposed to either be the best or be the best _for_ the best." He grinned. "I think I can work with that."

Harry was genuinely impressed. "Well, Hestina Goranov is going to teach me advanced magic. . . magic this quack school won't mention in the next century. I could speak to Voldemort about getting you a few lessons here and there."Draco couldn't respond because the absolutely filthy fool, Weasel, was now red faced and bounding towards them both..

His face was as red as his hair. "You! You. . . _you_ ," he suddenly looked at Harry, who returned the gaze with one colder than ice. Sharper than shards of glass. "I don't remember you. Have you been twisted to the dark side by Malfoy and his wicked propaganda?"

Harry sneered, standing. The boy was about a foot taller than him, but so what? This boy was a blood traitor. He was born with the honorable title of pureblood and he tossed it out of the window to protect the vile muggle and muggleborn.

"I am Harry Altair Potter, and if I ever have the displeasure of meeting you again—or in your practically nonexistent thoughts I appear— you will address me as such. Combined between Draco Malfoy and I we have more magic than your puny little brain could ever comprehend, so stop making this train cabin smell like the underside of a dumpster and _leave_." Silence hung as everyone stood in shock at the words that hurled from Harry's mouth gracefully.

Weasel made a grab at his wand and hastily fired a spell. "F-F- _Flipendo?_ " It took him a moment to remember maybe a jinx he had heard one of his elders recite. Nonetheless, his aim was twisted, and his voice was quiet. While he aimed for Draco, he flailed and the dark orange blast collided with Harry's chest and sent him lifting almost weightlessly into the air.

The jinx wasn't a correct blast. It soared Harry back instead of up, and he slammed with a horrendous sound into the glass window. "Oh. . ." Ron mumbled, backing away, his face filled with fear. But now, Harry Altair Potter was livid, seeing red and unforgiving. He tore his wand from the floor.

" _Tiapond Ondok_!" Instantly, the effects showed. Draco's curse gave the victim a sensation that their spine was disintegrating and being set aflame. Weasel cried out in agony, but Draco quickly did a silencing charm, and watched in awe and horror as the boy crumbled to the ground, drooling in his partially alive state. With mobilicorpus, Harry tossed the boy's limp body to a farther sector, glad that the thick glass and shaded windows had protected his reputation.

"Well, that boy was a bother." Harry stated, calmly sitting down and ordering the lot of the treats that came with the trolley witch. It was all piled in simply for the sake of Harry and Draco. They split the cost, equally wealthy and neither willing to deny the wealth it showed to _buy out_ the trolley.

Draco shrugged as the train began to slow and the first year students' cheers could only very faintly be heard through the thick walls. He chewed on some of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum. "The entire Weasley family—Weasel if you will—is a complete joke. From that disappointment who can only land a poor pay job as a curse-breaker in Gringotts, to the new little baby. Ugh, I'll dread it when she appears next year. Ginny, I believe her name is."

Harry sneered, picking himself from the seat. "I believe soon enough I'll complete my training and mudbloods, muggles, and blood traitors alike need not be. . . around anymore." They both chuckled.

"Your aspirations, Harry, are astounding." They both existed the train cabin, ready for the Hogwarts journey to begin.

. . . . . . .

Draco had other friends, Harry learned as the feast began in the Great Hall. The place was ornate with golden walls, copper goblets filled with the butterbeer, pumpkin juice, and even sparkling sugar plum cider as the students wished. There were five tables, each with a banner hanging over it to represent their house.

The meek, timid, and weak of Hufflepuff sported a lousy badger and a honey yellow banner over them as they stuffed their faces with food that their very own Helga Hufflepuff originally made the recipes for.

The witty, clever, and obnoxious Ravenclaws ate calculatingly without noticing their biggest mistake; hanging an eagle instead of a raven for their house.

The Gryffindor table. Filled with embarrassments to the Wizarding World, claiming to be brave, but no stronger than a Hufflepuff when it came to duels.

And, the table that Harry sat with beside Draco, and across some of his friends, Crabbe and Goyle, two oafs who Harry believed were only kept around Draco for protection. Eh.

The fifth table was a giant one that spanned the Great Hall's width, allowing only small spaces for the professors to sit and talk. Minerva McGonagall, the transfiguration professor and head of Gryffindor, who wore long green dress robes and a hat that curved down behind her head. A tight bun and thinly framed black glasses also matched her attire.

There was also Severus Snape, the potions teacher who Harry found was staring quite intently, bordering on bitterly, at him. His hook nose and oily black hair, along with ivory white skin and thick black robes gave him the look of a swooping bird. A raven. It was a look that only men of great power could pull off without being engulfed by the massive robes and responsibility to hold a firm gaze.

The only one that Draco and Harry even glanced at for any longer though was Hestina Goranov, the new defense against the dark arts teacher, they say. Harry snickered at the thought. What ridiculousness of _her_ teaching to _defend_ against it! Ha! Dumbledore must've been wrapped around her finger, entranced by her steady coal eyes that reached out to you, and whispered the secrets she had been trusted with. Her hair which was the color of pearls, with streaks of blood magenta. Her hands with her long fingers adorned many rings made of bone and such, and her black blouse was fitted with a corset of blood red that dripped into a ruffled skirt. She smiled at the crowd but didn't say a word.

Finally, the crown jewel of stupidity and muggle-love at the school stood, wearing a bright gold and silver starred robe and crescent glasses, his nose crooked and slightly pink from the cold weather. "This is Hogwarts!" He shouted. "A place for all wizards and witches to come and learn. Tonight, as all nights of the first night, we will Sort our first years into the house they will stay in until they complete their training at Hogwarts! So far we've only served drinks in our magical goblets and slices of turkey on silver platters, and recently I've found that salted meats upsets me. . . So I will only say a few words before the sorting commences," the whole hall fell silent. "Nitwit, blubber, neon, chrysanthemum, and polar. Thank you!" He sat down, receiving half-hearted, and confused applause. Not from the Slytherin table though.

Professor McGonagall stood as she carried out the Sorting Hat, a large brown drooping hat, with threads of leather falling down the rim and small holes from moths adorning it. Harry shivered at the thought of that horrid object even being placed on his head.

"Abbot, Hannah." She called the first student, a dirty blonde haired girl who clung to her skirt with her thin fingers. She sat on a creaky stool and closed her eyes as the hat sat on her head.

Occasionally, the hat would make noises like, _ah! Ooh. . . That_ is _interesting. Woah! Hahaha!_ After three minutes it became obvious there was a conversation happening up there. "Well, I see no other place to put you except HUFFLEPUFF! Who's next!?" Hannah smiled at finally being released and staggered to the Hufflepuff table.

The professor continued. "Aiken, Woody." She called. A boy with lots of strawberry colored hair that fell over his eyes, and short legs almost jogged up the stairs, he was so excited, he jumped onto the stool and the hat barely grazed his head before calling out:

"GRYFFINDOR!" And the obnoxious crowd of Gryffindor house hooted and hollered and their shrill voices rang in Harry's ears.

"Aylmer, Horace. . ." It was a more continuous stream of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, with twelve or thirteen Ravenclaws swept in with maybe nine Slytherin students. The only one Harry paid attention to was a girl with bushy hair the color of hot toffee and eyes that danced between amber, chestnut, cognac and golden as the light of the candles flickered around her. Pity she was placed in Gryffindor. The ceremony was a bore after that until Gerhold Pletcher left, claiming the title of a Gryffindor, Harry realized who was next.

"Potter. . ." Professor McGonagall's voice trailed off in shock for a moment. "Potter, Harry." The whole room silenced. Draco clapped Harry on the back one last time before Harry stood, walking calmly to the post as the filthy hat was laid on his head, forgetting about the fact that she forgot to mention his full name.

So Harry was right. The hat talks. It spoke to him inside his head. It felt as though he was intruding. _Harry Altair Potter. . . you like to be called that, don't you? Hmmm. . . fear, paranoia, and selfishness. You are brilliant, but not witty. Not clever. It seems Slytherin must be an easy choice, but I'm going to make this last a bit longer. I haven't seen a mind like yours since. . . well, since the mind that took the life of your parents._

The hat continued.

 _You don't hate, Harry Potter. You don't. You think the passion you have against muggleborns and muggles and everyone who won't serve you or Voldemort is true, but it is not. It is an installed feat on your young mind and I promise you, you will change. Nonetheless, I'm a hat. I'm the Sorting Hat! I'm unbreakable, no matter what comes, and there will always be someone to sort, so. . . be in Slytherin. Serve Voldemort. You can walk that dangerous and thin line between ambition and bravery, but you will fall Harry Potter. And who you choose as the person to catch you will either enlighten or destroy you. Goodbye, Harry Altair Potter. For now._

Harry's brain stung as their connection ceased and he just barely made it out of his daze before his house was called.

"The boy belongs in SLYTHERIN!" And everyone fell silent. Harry leapt off the stool and surveyed the crowd, raising an eyebrow at the quiet until the Slytherin house erupted in cheers, and even the other houses clapped with decent respect for Harry, who _had_ after all, saved them from slavery at the hands of Voldemort.

But then again. . . he was the boy destined to do it again himself.


End file.
